APRIL IS 
THE RUSAL NEW-YORKER. 
2 ST 
GOING HOME. 
“ I am going home.” « schoolboy mild. 
As he lel't Ills tanks lit school, 
'• To the eotttvgo white, on yonder street, 
Where home's bright circle Is still complete, 
With love for Its golden rule.” 
” 1 am going homo," a captain said, 
As his ship sped o’er the sea, 
’■ To the lone farmhouse on the old hillside ; 
To the village belle, my promised bride, 
Now watching and waiting for me." 
“ 1 am going home," a merchant said. 
Whose carriage rolled up the street, 
“ To the ' marble front' on yonder square; 
To my lovely wife, so proud and fair, 
And m.v daughters, fair and sweet." 
" I am going homo," a woodman said, 
As he left Ids fallen tree, 
" To the bumble cot on yonder hill, 
Where life Hows on like a gentle rill, 
With those who are dear to me," 
“ 1 am going home,” a soldier said, 
As he left the buttle plain, 
To a peaceful farm In a northern State, 
Where loving ones my Coming await. 
To welcome me buck again," 
" I am going homo," a Ohrlstlau said, 
As his life was well nigh o’er, 
" To my Father's house by the crystal sea, 
For the crown and the robe there waiting for me, 
And shall wear them forevermore." 
- « ♦ > 
THOENS AND EOSES. 
(Continued from page 98.1 
CHAPTER XIX. 
‘‘No; he is the opposite of Nevil Verner, 
but-” 
“He would be a true friend to you- 
look 1” 
For I had heard a step, and saw Brandon 
himself coming toward us, followed by Nero. 
“ I had better go,” said Edgar, nervously. 
“You had bettor stay,” I answered, and 
waited for my kinsman joyfully. 
He gave mo bis hand, thou extended it to 
Edgar, who just touched it, looking at me in 
the old troubled way. 
“I was going to one of the tenants,” said 
Bruudon, leaning on the guto and caressing 
No “ Ware you going to Kingston, Kate!” 
“No; I was having a short walk.” 
“Lot me look at you, Elgar. Have you 
been ill ?” 
'* I am never ill !” 
Brandon fixed his eyes on the young man’s 
changing face, 
“ You think I do not know what your 
sorrow is, nor what you lost, but I do, and I 
was very sorry. I might have said so before, 
but we were not quite at ease with each other, 
I liked you at the first, my dear boy, and I 
tried silently to win your friendship, but you 
avoided me, and told me siloutly that you did 
not wish my friendship.” 
Edgar’s head dropped, ami his color deepen¬ 
ed, whilst his eyes sought mine with a strange 
expression of the old fear mingled with doubt 
and perplexity. A word, a look, a tone even, 
would have been fatal, and my kinsman was 
in a difficult position. 
I need not have feured ; 1 see him now us I 
write, standing with his hand on Edgar’s 
shoulders, his mild, benignant face, his stately 
head bent, his fine form, all so contrasted with 
the slight, shrinking figure of the other; and 
I hear, os I did then, his sweet, clear voice: 
“ Listen to me for a moment,” he said; “ I 
know much of your story—more, perhaps, 
than you think—I know also why you avoided 
me, or I think 1 do, but of that we will say 
nothing, 1 am older than you, and it was for 
me to speak first—to ask in words for your 
friendship. You are here alone and friendless; 
I also am nlOuo, and it may lie in our power 
to help each other on the road of life. You 
may smooth many a rough place forme, show 
me the silver lining of many a cloud, teach me 
to leave with confidence present and future iu 
His hands; you may trust iu me, uud fool as¬ 
sured of my sincerity. These are the duties 
of friendship, and this is why 1 ask for yours. 
Will you give it ? 
For answer Edgar Dana held out his haud— 
the first lime he had voluntarily offered it to 
my kinsman—who clasped it warmly. 
Unheard, I opened the gate and entered the 
field; Brandon would know why 1 had gone, 
and would not follow, and 1 hurried away. 
Yet, after a few moments, I could not help 
looking back. 
They wore walking together towurds the 
cottage my kinsman had to visit; ho had 
drawn his arm through Edgar's; Nero bound¬ 
ed in front; and with this peaceful little pic 
ture iu my heart, I resumed my homeward 
journey, saying to myself that there was no 
one in the world like Brandon. 
He had touched the right chord at once, 
and the almost morbidly sensitive nature of 
Edgar Dana was an open book to him. In every 
man’s life there is a crisis, when the good and 
evil in his nature struggle for predominance; 
would that every one at such a time had a 
friend like Brandon Level. 
We hear often of tu in’s “downward career;’’ 
if wa could go back to the starting poiut, we 
might find that this career would have been 
checked by a word of kindness, by a friendly 
hand pointing to tho higher life; but it often 
happens that we have not time; we pass our 
“ forlorn and shipwrecked brother,” and only 
when our own hour of trial comes realize the 
power of kindness and what we might have 
done for others. 
Thus musing, I had reached the lane that 
swept on to the gnte3 of Lovel Cottage; and it 
seemed as though I were to meet all the world 
to day, for, walking at a rapid pace, kicking 
a stone before him as ho camo, swinging his 
cane to and fro, angry of eye und sullen of 
brow, was Nevil Verner. Seeing me, he bowed, 
and I would have passed on after returning 
his salute, but he turned with me. 
“I will see you homo, iMi.ss Lovel.” 
An attention with which I could have dis¬ 
pensed, 
“ Are you going to call there f” 
“No, I have been. I promised my mother 
that I would bo home early, and she will be 
expecting me, or I should have stayed with 
Edith. A-1 saw a friend of yours the other 
day; some one in whom you take great in¬ 
terest.” 
“ Did you ?” 
“ Yes; I was at the General’s, and 1 saw Mr. 
Dana. He was looking very well.” 
“ Was he ?” 
“ I thought you would like to hear of him, 
Miss Lovell, as you—ha I ha! take an interest 
in him." and Mr. Verner smiled very sweetly. 
“ You are very kind, but I hear of Mr. Da¬ 
na from Mr. Dana.” 
“ You would rather hear of him from him¬ 
self than from me ?” 
“ Naturally I would.” 
“ May I ask you a question, Miss Lovell ?” 
“ You may.” 
“ Thank you. We were once friends, and I 
shall over bo interested iu your welfare. Mr. 
Dana—is he not your lover, my dear Miss 
Lovel ? ” 
“ Why ?”I asked in amazement. 
“ Why ? Because 1 think so. You admit 
an interest in him; he comas to see you, and 
appears to confide iu you. He pretended an 
alTection for Edith; great presumption I 
thought it, audhe is as presumptuous if he as¬ 
pires to you. I would advise you-” 
“Will you allow me to ask you a ques¬ 
tion ? ” 
“ Oil, certainly, my dear Miss Lovel.” 
“ IIow can it couooru you wuat Edgar Da¬ 
na is to in i ! I thank you for the interest you 
display, but at the Hatne ti ne must tell you 
that 1 do not desire your advice, au i as you 
have some distance to walk, l will say good 
afternoon.” . 
“Good afternoon,” he echoed blankly, his 
ardor a little damped. 
Nevil, I suppose, had merely been venting 
his 111 temper on me; nevertheless I was an¬ 
noyed to think that I could not have a friend 
without some one comiug forward to attrib¬ 
ute motives which never entered my mind. 
Edith met mo in the hall and came upstairs 
with me. 
“Had a nice walk i 1 was bored till Nevil 
came. ” 
“ 1 met him,” I said, uufasteuing my seal¬ 
skin with hands still trembling. 
•‘ Wasn’t he in a sweet state of mind ? I was 
tired when he arrived, and not in the humor 
for his compnuy, so wo hud a perfectly de¬ 
lightful quarrel. I told him to go because he 
made my head ache, 
" ‘ Aiul then Ids royal highness 
Withdrew to take the air.’ 
He’ll come to-morrow to make friends. Did 
ho say anything to you 1 ” 
“ Not very much.” 
“Guess whom he selected for his abuse to¬ 
day ? Boor Edgar! He aecused me of flirt¬ 
ing with him. Did he mention him to you?” 
“Ho asked me If Edgar wus my lover.” 
“ Did you undeceive him ?” 
“ I refused to answer at ail. ” 
“Thou blessed angel! as Victorian says. 
Nevil is madly jealous of Edgar; he said that 
he pretended to visit you, but really came to 
see me, and you were encouraging it. He had 
seen, ho said, my auger the other day because 
you ha 1 uot asked Edgar to come in, I hid 
my face to laugh, and lie thought I was cry¬ 
ing, so mingled his reproof with consolation, 
until 1 screamed again. Do not put on your 
virtuous face; what harm? He Is awfully 
amusing when he is jealous, little dear.” 
“ Have you reflected on the possible conse¬ 
quences of your amusement? Suppose Edgar 
and Nevil met?” 
“ 1 never thought of that I No matter; I 
shall tell Nevil the truth, and if he has auy 
good iu him, ho will pity that poor boy!” 
CHAPTER XXI. 
SHADOWS YET. 
“ Well, Kate, it’s all smooth sailing now. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my unpaid 
bills!” 
The speaker, of course, was Edith, and she 
had just entered the drawing-room where I 
sat. 
Mr. Nevil Verner had reappeard this after¬ 
noon. and he and Edith had had a long inter¬ 
view downstairs; whilst T read one of Bran¬ 
don’s books in solitary glory, until disturbed 
by the entrance of my cousin. 
“ The qUOrrol is ended, then ?” 
“Yes; he upologized, ami after a few hero¬ 
ics we were friends again Nevil’s with aunt 
now, and 1 came to tell you that my wedding- 
day is chosen. I have taken the plunge, and 
down tho precipice I am going. Good-bye to 
days of serrmbling freedom! Though I am 
getting nil 1 want, I feel a little regretful 
about my old life.” 
“ Did you tell Nevil about Edgar ?” 
“Yes, I did. A serious lit came over me, and 
after reconciliation l thought I would be open 
and candid, and give my lover a chance of be¬ 
ing generous. I told him all—iuy engagement 
to Edgar and how it was broken, how he came 
here, what ho said to you—that ho forgave 
me, and how h i meant to go abroad. I thought 
tho story of his losses, of his struggles, of his 
unchanging love, would have touched even a 
cold heart. He heard me to the end, then 
said, ‘Ah! you acted very sensibly at the last, 
my dear Edith. lie is only what I always 
thought him—a presumptuous little puppy! 
Excuse my warmth. The subject may drop 
now, for it is beneath our notice!’ Generous, 
eh, Kate?” 
I did not answer, and Edith’s large eyes 
flashed. 
“It is to this man,” she exclaimed, “wliohas 
not one spark of generosity, of manliness, of 
nobility, that I trust my future!—this man 
whom I shall vow to love and honor, to whom 
I shall be bound until death releases one of us! 
Though I must marry wealth, fate might have 
given me one whom I could at least respect! 
I am ambitious, selfish, avaricious if you will, 
but not dead to all womanly feelings. How 
different would I lie if the other-” 
“Dourest Edith,’ 1 I said, as she stopped, “It 
is uot too late to draw back. You love this 
old house. Make it your home instead of 
sacrificing yourself. Thu marriage can only 
bring unhappiness to yo a and to Nevil, and 
you know it." 
“Ha! ha! ha! am I not a splendid actress, 
Kate? Really, heroics become me. 1 draw 
back? Not if Nevil wore fifty times worse 
than he is! You’ll soon read amoug the pre¬ 
sentations, ‘Mrs. Verner, on her marriage, by 
the Honorable Mrs. Uawdon,’ and I shall be in 
raptures ” 
Otic® married. I shall do just as I like, and 
be ns happy a« I am now. Lot me see. Once 
home, I must choose my bridesmaids and de¬ 
cide who shall be invited, The ten tribes of 
Hawdon of course, the Verner clan, all the 
Danas bar one, and, oh! Brandon! Mr. Mel¬ 
ancholy will be rather like tho Ancient 
Mariner among all those merry people, I hope 
he won't strike an attitude and begin “There 
was a ship.”’ 
“Brandon never does strike attitudes.” 
“Seriously. I want him there, for some ter¬ 
rible friend of Nevil’s Is to be ‘ best man,’ and 
I know Brandon can throw anyone into the 
shade. Even papa, with all bus courtliness, 
will hide a diminished head in presence of our 
Black Prince. Do come downstairs, Kate; 
I’ve had enough of Nevil as a solo for one 
day!” 
With her usual airy gayety she left me to 
reflect on the contradictions of her character 
—to wonder which qualities were real, which 
assumed. This “other” of whom she had 
spoken before—did he really exist? and who 
was ho ? 
Wheu I entered the parlor she was writing, 
and Nevil stood beside her watching the small 
white fingers fly across the paper. He'nssumed 
the air of courteous kindness which 1 had 
once admired, but which no lontrer deceived 
me, for 1 could see the real nature shining 
through the thin veil. 
Rome days passed without event or change. 
Edith occupied herself with books, apparently 
desirous of avoiding further conversation on 
tho subject of marriage; or occasionally rode 
out alone, tolling me that she wanted a few 
free gallops. Sometimes she encountered 
Nevil, and when she did, returned homo either 
very crass or liored to death. ' 
“ He might think,” she said, plaintively to 
me, “ that T can’t see en mgh of him. I may 
ride or I may walk, but Nevil’s there forever; 
and I may yawn or I may sigh, but he talks 
on for ever.” 
I watched her ride away to-day serenely 
aud graceful'y, with no cloud on her bright 
face. The echo of horse-hoofs died away, and 
I thought 1 would go in again, wheu someoue 
called mv name. 
“ Miss Lovel, I was hoping that I might see 
or meet you, and then I saw Edith ride away, 
or T should not have come into the garden. I 
had to ask you something though.” 
ft “Will you come into the house, Edgar?” 
asked. 
“Oh, no! I should not have ventured so 
far-” 
Here a fit of coughing interrupted him that 
seemed to shake his whole frame. The color 
was very vivid in his cheeks to-day; the eyes 
brighter and larger; the blue veins moreclear 
in the white brow. 
“You have made a friend of Brandon?” 
“Ho made himself my friend. You were 
right when you said once that I should thank 
you for your advice. Do you remember the 
day he first spoke so kindly to me? He walked 
home with me—he did, indeed—all that cold, 
dreary way.” 
“You’ll say some time, with me, that he is 
the best man on earth!” 
“I say it now. He is so gentle, so kind, so 
wise, and I believe he knows everything!” 
“ Have you seen him since ?” 
“ Often, in so short a time. He has given 
me permission to take anything I like from 
his library—to come and go as freely as if 
Kingston were my own. I thought he was 
gloomy ami reserved; but when at home I 
think over all he has said and done, I find that 
there has always been something to laugh 
about.” 
I thought Edgar’s admiration of my kins¬ 
man would increuse to a kind of hero worship. 
“All this goodness, Miss Lovel, after my 
avoidance of him! He has never spoken of it, 
but when I urn with him the remembrance of 
what I once believed of him comes back. I 
want to ask you if I may tell him why I avoid¬ 
ed him?” 
“Tell him!” I echoed. 
“ I should feel less like a hypocrite—not as 
if I were deceiving him. I owe this to him, 
for he is too generous to ask an explanation. 
I want to tell what I thought, and that I told 
you. Would It. not be bettor, even though 1 
lose liis friendship?” 
“You will not, for he is Arm and faithful. 
What you wish to tell him will startle him, I 
know. Yet I don't know; I think he has 
guessed it. You havo my permission; and 
you need only bo frank with him, and you will 
find him to be what I have always said.” 
“ It is hard for me to say it to him, but 
harder to deceive him. He has put new life 
into me! 1 want to do something to show him 
that I am worthy of his kind words. Do you 
know the General said that he envied me? 
He thinks so highly of Brandon. And now I 
must go. Only for you, Kate, I should not 
have had this dear friend; but ever since I 
came here you have been goodness itself to me 
a stranger!” 
He raised my haud to his lips simply and 
quietly; and I went back lo the house, to hear 
the gentle, boyish voice, to see the earnest 
face, to clasp the slight thin hand, never, 
never again! I had need to remember that 
parting, for we met no more. 
As I returned to tho house, 1 wondered what 
Brandon would say to Edgar’s story—if he 
would speak of it to me. 1 waited anxiously 
for his coming; but some days had elapsed 
since Edgar’s visit, when one evening he 
appeared. 
He spoke to aunt Dorothy, und to Edith, 
giving me a hand that was cold as ice; aud 
instead of his usual bright, quick glance, his 
eyes dropped. 
“We were going to sleep, I think!” said 
Edith, yawning. “Do you know that I am 
soon to leave here, Brandon ?” 
“No, 1 did not know that.” 
“I’m going home to prepare for my wedding. 
You, of course, will represent the levels at 
that great ceremony. Papa is certain to send 
you an invitation, and you must accept it. 
Festivities are not in your way, but to oblige 
me yon will come/ 1 don’t want Lady Dana 
peering through her eyeglasses at everyone* 
aud whispering ‘None of the Lovel’s here! 
Singular ! I suppose they're not presentable— 
hem 1” Don’t smile, Brandon! She’s re¬ 
nowned for 4 ways that are dark, and tricks 
that are vain.’ Now, come and sing ‘Lord 
Level’ for me!” 
“Aren’t you going to Hawdon, Kate?’* 
asked aunt, as my cousin crossed the room, 
languidly. 
“No; I’ve decided to remain here, aunt 
Dorothy.” 
“ Is Edith’s frieud, Mr. Dana, to be invited? 
“ I think it very unlikely.” 
“Brandon has not been away from home for 
a long time, and the change will do him 
good.” 
As aunt spoke, I looked at Brandon. He 
had declined to sing, I thought, and was 
speaking to Edith, whilst she laughed and 
played softly to herself. To me he had said 
very little to-night. He had uot looked at me, 
had avoided me, and I know the cause too 
well. Edgar Dana had told him. He would 
remember how T had questioned him, and 
would think that I had believed him guilty. 
Why hud I questioned him? Why, after that, 
had 1 seemed confuted ii his presence? He 
had said then that I questioned him in sisterly 
love aud sympathy; uow it would appear in a 
